Cast-iron radiators
hammer before dawn.
Without glasses,
poor vision blurs the morning,
digital numbers haloed in red,
the silhouette on the bureau,
my jewelry box or,
last night's reading?
An image, framed by window,
develops like a vintage photograph
and awake now, I listen
to duct-work detonating
with small explosions,
a vent in the kitchen
clanging in reply.
I try to match
my breathing to
the rhythm
but there's no tempo,
only familiarity—
the wheezing furnace
as reluctant to wake as I,
on this frozen day
when warming pipes
are my only companions.
Liza Carens Salerno
January 2021
7 comments:
A lonely, cold companion indeed.
excellent poem and it reminds me of being at my father's house up in PA (where I grew up). The old furnace and vents would clack away. Indeed no steady rhythm. Almost like old ghosts wheezing. January - that perpetual chill to the bones.
Take care and stay warm, my friend
This poem is a lovely structure with which to house feelings of loneliness.
You brought back memories of years gone by. I had forgotten that morning sound.
It has been a very hard year, and many of us no longer wake up with good expectations.
Hi Liza - I certainly remember those days ... excellent poetic memories of days gone by. Gosh I'm glad I've got the centrally heated home right now! You've brought back freezing bones to life! Stay safe - Hilary
I'm remembering those days of such quietness when the only sounds were ones like you describe. Thanks for sharing your beautiful poem.
I miss our old radiators from when I was a kid. I'd sit on the one by the kitchen window and read until my bum got too hot :)
Post a Comment